


Maestro's Reflection

by palomino333



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, The Big O
Genre: Androids, Crossover, Deja Vu, Gen, Holodecks/Holosuites, Memories, Music, Piano, Violins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palomino333/pseuds/palomino333
Summary: '"But I am not capable of passion," Data replied, placing one hand upon the music stand, "While I am an android like you, I lack human emotions."' Data takes a music lesson from R. Instro on the Enterprise's holodeck.





	Maestro's Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the beginning of Season 3 of TNG, before "Ensigns of Command," the first episode in which Data plays the violin with others. Hence, Data is much less sure of his identity, and believes Dr. Soong to still be dead. On Big O's side, this is set in the beginning of "The Legacy of Amadeus."
> 
> The ambiguous ending of Big O was mainly what allowed for this story idea to take wing. One of the interpretations of Big O's cyclical ending is that Paradigm City is its own simulation (see the fanfic: Monitoring the Computer by WingedPanther73 for a more academic take on this theory), therefore it can be feasible for Data to interact with R. Instro on the holodeck. The past iterations of Paradigm City that are mentioned in this fanfic are from my own personal take on the lack of android and gynoid rights in the setting (further delved into in Nightingale's Musings), the situation being that the droids, while sentient, lack a strong legal voice. There are slight Dorothy/Roger and Data/Tasha hints dropped here, but nothing substantial, as the bulk of this is centered between Data and Instro.

He could wear his fedora again.

Odd, that he would note that, of all things, was a consistency. Admittedly, however, this world was a rather strange one in itself, bearing the sociological trappings of the twentieth century, but with some technology that would be reminiscent of the twenty-fourth. Still, it was understandable, considering that it was merely a simulated program of war.

"Computer, run Program Paradigm City," Data commanded.

The holodeck's grid faded away to be replaced by the close, towering structures of Paradigm City. Diesel-powered cars idled before a few sawhorses. Directly behind one was a man in a long coat and hat, yelling out instructions into a bullhorn, while further behind him were a few massive, idling military trucks. Lifting his head, Data saw the arching dome over the city, gray light filtering down onto the streets below. He lowered his gaze to avoid knocking into a passerby, while keeping a tight grip on his violin case. He noted the side gazes that he was given here and there. As he recalled, Paradigm City was not very welcome to outsiders, the fact being that outsiders themselves were extremely few and far between.

As he could recall, the program was in a state of flux, continuing onto a certain point before a soft reset, and beginning again at another point. The avatars within the program reacted accordingly, believing the loss of context to be a loss of memories. Still, in a shifting landscape, it was difficult to recall exactly what had been carried over from the prior cycle, though were a few clues. The clues themselves, however, proved anachronistic.

Eyes from the older woman covering her head with a kerchief followed him silently, his own gold eyes marking him as a different humanoid form from them. Androids and gynoids populated the city in a scattered manner, their difference in structure making it difficult for full assimilation. An android turned his head from where he stood at the corner of a street, and beckoned Data to him, his red optical lights gleaming against the copper alloy of his face (Data determined that it was zinc, as his face was a cloudy brass), his mechanical body draped with a loose-fitting coat, and his black tie hanging over his exposed shirt. The smell of oil radiated from him, and the looseness of pose indicated relaxation, as if he had just taken his fill. "Come in, sir. Only one more is needed," he invited, his voice holding a reverberating tone to it. The glowing lights of a royal flush fixture above him danced on his frame. Through the door that he held open, Data glimpsed rising cigarette smoke, and heads bent close over tables.

Data turned slightly on his heel, and replied curtly, "Perhaps another time, excuse me." From the angle of the android's head, he could tell that he was looking at his violin case, and Data noted how oddly human it was of him. Riker had smirked over the poker table, and had showed him that he had much to learn in reading human behavior, yet this model swung the pendulum the other way, perhaps out of laziness due to just having taken his sustenance, or his ability to take advantage of a newcomer.

The android merely shrugged, and turned from him, Data taking the indication that he was not anomalous, much in a contrast to his reality. Perhaps, had he the emotion, he would have felt brushed off, but instead he found the juxtaposition quite odd.

The big hand of the massive clock hanging over the shopping center stood close to the Roman numeral for twelve, reminding him to remain on his path, despite how very easy it was to be distracted. Humanity, as it so often did, continued after being a few steps from destruction. Tasha smiled up at him from his desk. Beyond the dome, there were lands that echoed her own, torn by years of war. The truth for these programs could possibly lay in that wasteland, but the simulation appeared to reach its limits there.

The Angel program, her blonde hair whipping over her shoulder, walked past Data, her eyes, partially hidden by her sunglasses, focusing on him, and widening. She stopped herself with a slight gasp, her suitcase nearly colliding with a passing businessman. Data slipped away as Angel stopped to glance about. Thinking better of the situation, he turned down a side alley, the squeaking of mice whispering through it. The Angel program was far too much of a variable, and he had learned better from the example of James Moriarty. He did, however, have his suspicions that the Angel program was on a consistent arc of progression, something that could only be hastened by more interaction with the outside world.

Garbage and newspapers rolled past his feet as he emerged from the alley, pausing to glance once more. His eyes widened as he took in the word, AMADEUS, and he started toward his quarry. He paused, however, as another figure as ascended the stairs. The gynoid's red synthetic hair, kept in place under a headband, marked her easily as the latest iteration of the Dorothy program, her dark gaze far-off, and her pale face impassive. Dorothy did not acknowledge him as she turned and walked off. Whether she did not for lack of detecting him, or for lack of care, he was unsure either way. R. Dorothy was a different sort, as the memories of Dorothy Waynewright were within her. He descended the stairs, thinking of his own creation once more. Timothy's motivation for creating his "daughter" bore a difference to that of Dr. Soong, in that she was the intended replacement for the deceased Dorothy. Lore was not based upon a preconceived template of a deceased human, barring the late Soong himself, nor was Data. Dorothy, therefore, was a step ahead, her only "sister" being of a different type of machine.

Data paused at the foot of the stairs to take in his surroundings. The bar was heavily reminiscent of Dixon Hill's haunt in terms of furniture design, though not in mood, being set underground, and having a much more subdued form of lighting. He would find a greater similarity between its lighting, and that of Ten Forward. Paper rustled as the android before him, smartly dressed in a tail coat, his body half-bent, leaned over the bench of the grand piano in the center of the room, and collected the sheet music from the stand above the keyboard. Standing upright, he turned, revealing a rectangular, gray head with two white, glowing optical sensors. "Ah, Mr. Data, yes?" He inquired, his vocal tone conveying warmness.

Data nodded his head. "Yes, sir. R. Instro, if I am not mistaken?"

Setting the papers aside, Instro bowed. "The very same. Thank you for arriving on time." He picked up his sheet music to put away into the bench. Instro, design-wise, proved more industrial than Dorothy. He was not built with synthetic flesh, rather the metal caught the low lights of the bar, and gleamed as he turned his head back and forth. His motions, particularly his hands, were much less stiff than Dorothy's, gesturing about fluidly, his fingers moving in a slight rhythm.

"Now then," he began, leaving the bench open, and circling about the piano, his back to Data as he tugged at music stand, dragging it over to the side of the piano. Data quickly headed over to assist him, but Instro waved him away. "You've played on your own?"

Data nodded his head, and indicated his case. "If I may, sir?"

Instro gave a sweep of his hand. "By all means." Data placed the case upon the piano bench, and opened it, taking out the instrument to hold between his hands. Instro started forward, and bowed slightly. "Could I have a closer look?"

Data nodded, and held it out to him, sparing a thought to the fact that they were standing on carpet. Instro handled the violin delicately, turning it slightly in his hands to admire the craftsmanship. He paused, however, and glanced up at Data. "Mr. Data, where did you get this?" His tone was suspicious, and his posture was quite stiff.

Data opted to diffuse the tension by removing his hat to hold between his hands, giving off a sheepish impression. "I am android like you are, sir. I have the ability to build such an item."

Instro's shoulders lowered, but his grip about the violin tightened. "That's certainly true, but I wonder where you found the materials to create it. It is of a fascinating craftsmanship, one I have not seen since forty years ago."

Data shrugged, holding out his hat. "I have tinkered here and there. My creator," he pointed at his head, "gave me the memories to do such a thing."

Instro paused, and lowered the violin to his side. Turning his head toward the stairs, he commented, "Curious." Turning back to look at him, he inquired, "Do others know of this?"

Data shook his head. "No sir."

"Then why would you not keep it confidential, Mr. Data?" Instro inquired, his voice rising.

"That," he moved toward the stand, and picked it up to place in the center of the room, "is up to my discretion. You are my teacher, after all, and we have already expended five minutes of this lesson. I would like to learn from you."

"Certainly," Instro replied, holding up the violin for Data to take back. Data carefully withdrew the bow from the case before moving it off the bench. Re-opening it, Instro began to page through the sheets of music, murmuring comments over each. Data found this human habit of thinking out loud odd, especially considering that Instro was mainly giving his subjective opinion about each piece. Rising with sheets of music in his hands, he decided, "We will begin with Chopin today, unless you have any preferences?"

Data shook his head. "No, sir." He reached forward to take the music from his hands, and placed it upon the music stand, opening it to the beginning.

Instro swept about the piano, and placed his hands over the keyboard. "A few scales to warm up, then." Data nodded, holding his bow to draw over the violin, and Instro began, his hands sailing over the keyboard. Data restrained his speed to keep from overtaking Instro. Instro glanced down a moment, here and there, to check his own accuracy. Data, his instrument braced against the crook of his neck, watched him intently, his fingers keeping up with Instro's improvisations, fascinated. He doubted little that Instro could easily place his hands on the correct keys, yet he was checking himself for errors. He also leaned somewhat forward, focusing his full attention upon his music.

With one last resounding tap of the keys, Instro lowered his hands from the piano, turning slightly to Data. "I could sense that you were watching me," he noted quietly with a slight undercurrent of disapproval to his tone.

Data lowered the violin. "Was I disturbing you, sir?"

"You didn't," Instro replied, "but it's clear that you have attention division."

"Has it affected my playing?" Data inquired, tilting his head to the side, "I am capable of processing multiple tasks at once."

"Mr. Data, while your abilities are commendable, you must also understand an integral component of music," Instro held up his hands, "passion."

"But I am not capable of passion," Data replied, placing one hand upon the music stand, "While I am an android like you, I lack human emotions."

"I see…" Instro folded his hands, "Yet, you came here today for a lesson in accompaniment. Though your name was an indicator to me, you're clearly not of this city."

"No sir, I am not."

Instro glanced back towards the staircase. "Does anyone else know of this?" Data shook his head. Instro placed a hand to his chest. "Then your secret will remain with me. While you say you lack human emotion, I find it contradictory that you wish to practice a different form of play with an android of a different mind than you."

Data let go of the music stand. "I do possess a drive to grow beyond my current programming, therefore I seek to learn what I do not already know."

Instro held his gaze. "That's what your father would want?"

"My father?" He glanced about, registering Instro's question. "Ah, you mean my creator, Dr. Soong. Yes, I believe that he would have wanted this. Curious, have you met your creator?"

Instro nodded his head. "I have inherited this piano from the late Dr. Amadeus, my father," he paused, and placed his one hand back over the keys, "Shall we begin?" Data nodded his head, dutifully taking up the violin again. "Don't look at me this time." Data turned his head away from him, and Instro began, his hands tinkling softly over the keys. Matching his key playing carefully, Data drew his bow lightly across the strings, singing carefully over it. His thoughts, however, continued to wander as he played. He knew had to be careful with the Paradigm program, as his and Geordi's lack of foresight with the Sherlock Holmes program had allowed for Moriarty to become self-aware. At the same token, however, it was quite easy for him to speak with Instro about matters pertaining to an android, and his instructor was quite benevolent.

Yet, it wasn't real. It never was. The Paradigm program, discontinued by the sheer destruction brought on by the Eugenics Wars, served as one of many wartime simulation programs. At first a running number of variables, more in tune with the Colossus, a machine even Data could consider to be one of his earliest ancestors, the program was lost, but recovered, never having shut down. Artifact though it was, its simulations, stopping at a certain point of action, that usually being Angel's actualization, grew into their own. Past iterations of characters were lost, while others adapted. Miss Dorothy Waynewright, murdered as a dissident with her father, Dr. Wayneweright, via firing squad in the past twelfth iteration, was now a gynoid. Her paramour, Lt. Roger Smith, bore a different example, lost upon a stack of mechs in an unknown battlefield in a battle regarded senseless, was now Roger Smith, the negotiator and operator of the Big O mech, living outside of the dome despite his wealth. A non-descript man became the key to the solution, or the next cycle, then.

The megadeii were the strangest branch of evolution by the Paradigm program. Rather than being weapons of nuclear power, reflecting what mankind had used to nearly destroy itself in real life, massive mechs became the main driver of war. Though, in other iterations, quite possibly even in the "event" predating this current cycle, that nuclear weaponry could have be utilized in other places, as evidenced by the wasteland surrounding the distant areas of the simulation. On the other hand, Data also brought that more into line with the fact that the simulation could not provide enough information to continue to generate landforms. It was also entirely possible that, due to running itself too many times, the simulation was now in recursion, reducing its characters and landforms, with this current cycle marking a collapse. That aside, the simulation was harmless, featuring technology that would have not proved consequential to Starfleet. The weapons carried by the military police were from the diesel era, while the megadeii, being more powerful, were also too limited due to being limited in number, and having few defenses against hacking from a machine such as himself. Data knew quite well that he himself could end the simulation prematurely by crashing Big O, though that would be dismissing the point of it.

Then there were the androids themselves, specifically, Instro and Dorothy. Instro, Data found to be the stranger of the two, in that, despite his inhuman appearance, he bore human emotions. Occasionally, Data calculated the possibility of who he would become, were he to develop human emotions. Considering Lore's manipulative and rather violent behavior, Data wondered if he too would go down his brother's path. There was also the fact that Lore had claimed him to be less perfect than him, therefore it was likely that he would only repeat his brother's mistakes. But then, there was Instro sitting before him, emotional as a human, yet polite, protective, and devoted to a harmless purpose. Perhaps there was a different route that could be taken.

Instro gently trailed off, ending the piece. Data lowered his bow, and waited for his instructor's evaluation. Instro looked up at the ceiling above him, and Data glanced up as well, puzzled to find nothing of significance. He glanced back down, and saw Instro nodding to himself. "You seem to suffer from the same issue as one of my other students," he commented.

"Sir?" Data inquired, lost.

Instro turned to look at him. "You play accurately, but without feeling." Data was about to repeat his previous point about lacking emotions when Instro further explained himself. "While I understand that you lack in human emotion, Mr. Data, you do have that drive to make yourself grow beyond who you are. It is a base component of your programming that is also an integral part of your being. You have a uniqueness to you, something that your music could benefit from having."

"If I understand you correctly, then, I must develop my own style?" Data inquired. At Instro's nod, he asked, "But we are in accompaniment. Would a deviation not ruin it?"

"I'm not asking for deviations," Instro replied, shaking his head, "What I am asking for is a duet. You are merely copying my style exactly, rather than placing your own sense of self into the sound. It would be as if a duplicate of me is also playing the violin."

"Is imitation not a form of human learning?" Data asked.

Instro held out a hand. "Early human learning, yes, and we have admittedly just begun. Please understand that I do not see this as a great flaw to you, and indeed, were you human, I would not have mentioned it in the first lesson. But as you are a machine, you would want to begin by addressing your issues."

Data nodded. "That is correct," he gestured to the music stand, "How shall we continue, then?"

Instro held up a finger. "In this next piece, listen to me carefully, and analyze my movements. Watch how I deliver not only the essence of Chopin, but of myself in my performance." Data lowered the violin and bow to rest upon the stand, and folded his hands with a nod.

As Instro began once more, Data's eyes tracking his movements carefully, he once again found his thoughts to be wandering. He himself held the logs of the doomed Omicron Theta Colony, and therefore could, by journal entry, analyze the words of the colonists, but not truly feel them, his lack of emotions making them difficult for him to process. He'd carefully researched Instro's present iteration before taking a lesson with him, experimentally as himself, though not without taking an amount of precautions first. Instro's world was ambiguous enough as it was, with individuals disappearing into the labyrinth of lost memories, and foreigners occasionally wandering into the city. Whether androids and gynoids were remains of a technology from before the previous "event," or were the computer's adaptation to a new form of internal warfare, was difficult to determine, as the simulation had been developed too long ago. Megadeii, for example, had no presence within recorded history.

Aside from Lore, Data was alone in his world, yet within this one, it was different, with sentient androids such as Instro freely walking about. It was an opportunity that was hard to resist, yet he had to temper it with the knowledge that it wasn't real. R. Instro and R. Dorothy were holograms, as were Roger Smith and Angel Rosewater. Though he could equate Instro's sentience with a more optimistic, Asimov-styled vision of an android, he knew overall that Instro was a fiction, as he had been in the cycle prior to his one. Yet, those memories that had been implanted within him, those of a little boy who rejected his father's love of music, were ones that he could feel. Despite his claim that he was doing what Dr. Soong would have desired of him, there were a few occasions where Data wondered what his opinion of his joining Starfleet would have been like.

Perhaps Lore would make the better chameleon of the two of them in Paradigm's uncertain environment. On the other hand, given Instro's love for his human "father," Lore likely would have reprogrammed the pianist. Data wondered when Lore's resentment for humanity began, and what that would bode for his relationship with Dr. Soong. For that matter, he wondered how long Dr. Amadeus had lived.

At the same time, despite him knowing that Instro wasn't real, he found himself not desiring to terminate the program, even if it was a pointless endeavor, aside from the accompaniment lesson. Sherlock Holmes and Dixon Hill also weren't real, but it didn't stop a connection to the characters from being made.

As for where Instro fit into this himself, his hands were plain to see. He did play with a certain amount of zeal that was attributed to human virtuosos, though Data detected hints of restraint here and there. Taking in, again, the moody setting of the bar, the ash trays, the dance floor, and the posters on the wall he had passed on the way down the stairs, he figured it was likely that Instro was more accustomed to playing a genre of music with more jump to it. Likely, he would enjoy playing a tune with Riker.

It was unknown whether Instro had knowledge of the Constanze mech, or even if he regarded the mech as a brother, as Dorothy had regarded Dorothy-1 as a sister. Data wondered what the loves of the android and gynoid's fathers meant, if they had also made them both into turnkeys for the megadeii. But then, he himself wasn't exactly sure why Dr. Soong had created him, and it could be argued, given his super strength, that he could, in another situation, have been intended as a war droid.

And yet, Instro had free will, as he himself had, and could think on his own. Why would their creators give them such an ability? It ran counter to what humans used machines for, to fulfill a set purpose. But then, didn't Captain Picard say, when he defended Data from being taken apart, that children were built from their parents' DNA? He wondered if Roger Smith defended Instro and Dorothy on the same point, given how close the negotiator was to each of them. If not, then if Paradigm fell to one final war, their appropriation as machines of warfare would be imminent. He himself, by contrast, had taken an amount of pride in his own medals, though that had been by choice, for Data knew full well that if a living being was being harmed in any way, he could not turn his back. Neither could Tasha, and her life had been snuffed out right before him. There had been stretches of time when he replayed her death in his processor, and contemplated what he could have done to save his friend. But then, it wasn't what Tasha would have wanted, and perhaps that was one of the stronger similarities they held with each other. In some ways, what bothered him about it was his own sense of helplessness in the matter, and in others, it was the fact that it had left too many of her personal matters unresolved too early. Paradigm was a city lacking ultimate resolution, but that was by its design, its timeline being cyclical. In reality, however, his friend's life was a mere blip, something that the omnipotent Q would scoff at, and in fact, already had by freezing and teleporting her. Yet, there were a few occasions when he found himself looking over his shoulder on the bridge for her, despite knowing that she would not be there.

But would Instro be self-sacrificial to prevent destruction, as well? Would he damage his own hands just to save others like Roger Smith? Lore certainly wouldn't. Whatever Instro's decision, however, Data could neither condemn nor condone him, this being that the consequences were outside of his control.

Instro's hands slipped off the keys, and he turned in his seat to look at Data. "Do you understand my point a bit more?" He inquired.

Data nodded. "Yes, I believe I do, but I must at least have a template with which I can begin. I cannot be expected to have my own style of playing right off."

Instro indicated himself. "Then you may use me as one of your starting points. My own personal style was derived from my father's, as well as the education that was afforded to me. You must begin to build your own style from what you have been given. In a way, you are mimicking a human's ability to create something that reflects himself."

"Then what must the next step be, then?" He asked, taking the violin from the stand again.

"We will continue our lesson, of course. I don't expect you to pick this up immediately." The sound of an interior door opening caught Instro's attention, and the two turned to see an old man with long white hair and a dark monocle entering the room. Instro rose as Data placed his violin back upon the stand. Data stepped before the pianist, who quickly pointed out, "Oh, there's no need to worry, Mr. Data. This is my father's friend, Dr. Gieseng."

Gieseng nodded curtly to Data, who held his ground, the memory of Dr. Graves's possession fresh in his mind. "I apologize, doctor," he began carefully, "but I have a lesson with Mr. Instro here, and I would like to see it to its completion."

Gieseng held out an arm. "It will have to be completed on another day. I have personal matters that must be discussed with him. Your lesson will be reimbursed and rescheduled."

Data shook his head. "The decision should remain with Mr. Instro. This is his lesson that he planned with me."

Gieseng raised an eyebrow at that, and Instro stepped around the android. "Doctor, you must forgive my pupil. My personal life is kept from my financial endeavors, after all." Whether Gieseng was paying Instro any attention, it was highly improbable in Data's opinion, as the scientist's visible eye was beginning to trace over him. However, rather than defending the lesson, Instro turned toward Data, and bowed slightly. "Forgive me, Mr. Data, but this matter requires my utmost attention."

Data blinked. "But you are not allowing yourself a choice."

"You're an android," Gieseng broke in, causing Data to swing his head back around, "You understand well that there are no choices for you to make. You are the designation of your function, nothing more, and nothing less."

Instro rose back up to full height before Data could again argue. "My function was designed by my father, and not by you, Doctor." The catch in his voice indicated rising tension. Data held out an arm before Instro, unsure still of whether to let him go. Instro, however, gripped it, and forcibly lowered it. "Enough. This does not concern you," he commanded, striding past him, pivoting once on his heel to face him, "Mr. Data, I will see that your reimbursement has been processed. I do apologize for this interruption."

With a last glance at Gieseng, Data inquired, "Our next lesson, then?"

Instro was silent for a few moments. "Depending upon when this matter is closed, I fear." He held out his hand. "It has been my pleasure to teach you."

Data took it, and shook it once before declaring, "Computer, end program."

Instro, Gieseng, and the bar vanished, leaving the music stand and the violin case standing within the three-dimensional grid. Data reached over, and picked up his violin once more to hold it contemplatively in his hands. A fantasy, all of it, to both sides, with Constanze looming in the background. Was he a fantasy to Instro, having agency of his own? It was but one lesson, and couldn't possibly have an alteration upon the program's running. Instro was clearly a fantasy to him, as well as to the humans that had created the program, before any type of human rights for a machine had been written.

And yet Instro had called his creator his father. And yet it was Instro who had the last word. And yet it was Instro who had planned the lesson. Given Gieseng's suspicions, however, it was probably for the best that Data chose not to save the program as it was. Perhaps the next time he did entertain a lesson with Instro, he might not even be in a mechanical form again. It was also likely that Instro would not remember him, but that was to also be expected, given that he was an outside force. Whether Instro was to activate Constanze, however, given his reactions to Gieseng, was his own in thought, but in body, there was a concern.

Placing his violin and bow back into his case, Data resolved to begin his experimentation with his own personal musical style, as was suggested to him by Instro. When the next reading of the simulation's completion was to be generated, however, he was interested to see what his instructor had learned.


End file.
